


into your bed (my safety net)

by benditlikepress



Category: NCIS
Genre: Canon-ish, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Sharing a Bed, post-elevator us!!!!!!!, set at the beginning of s10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benditlikepress/pseuds/benditlikepress
Summary: Tony and Ziva struggle to cope with their first case after the bombing of the NCIS building. Season 10 AU
Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 53





	into your bed (my safety net)

**Author's Note:**

> posting while very sick, i may come back and proofread in a few days so if there's any mistakes or general chaos please forgive me x  
> canon adjacent? kind of AU after 10x01 in that this is basically the first case they investigate after the bombing. could easily weave back into canon during early s10 though  
> title is from silence by fletcher

There was a strange dark circle shadow on the ceiling. 

Tony stared at it for a while, imagining it must've used to be covered by an alarm of some kind. Why it was darker than the surrounding ceiling rather than lighter, he wasn't sure. 

Maybe he would be better able to use logic on the subject, though, if he wasn't analysing it with one eye open in the middle of the night. 

He’d been in bed for over an hour, and had barely made it as far as closing both of his eyes fully. His mind was still racing from the events of the last few days – and, if he was being honest, the events of the last few months, too. Whoever thought sending them halfway across the world chasing after a terrorist was a good idea in the aftermath of them being blown up must have had a serious sense of humour.

The stand-off had been bloody and difficult physically and emotionally, and though in the end they’d just about managed to stop Jason Lewis from enacting his latest attack on a ship that was docked at a large naval port in the south-west of England, it had been a close call.

Tony and Ziva were staying at a hotel in a nearby town rather than on-base, and truthfully he was glad of the distance from the action. Running the details of the day through his mind again, he got out of bed again with a sigh, pacing the room and then sitting down on the small 2-seater sofa.

He wished he knew what it was that had got under his skin so much about this case, beyond just the logistical similarities. All he could think was that it was too much: too much death, too much travel, much too soon after everything that had happened with Harper Dearing over the summer.

He knew he wasn't the only one thinking it. Ziva had been quiet ever since they'd arrived in Plymouth - professional and talkative to a point about the case, but a stonewall beyond anything necessary. 

Deep down, he realised he was in no position to judge. He remembered their interaction last night in the hallway before bed: loaded heavy silences and stilted conversation, both of them taking the coward's way out and saying goodnight rather than confronting it. 

Tony ruminated on this point for a while, wondering if he should’ve done something different. He could see it was bothering her, but Ziva had never been one to bring that up for herself. Then, he supposed he was a hypocrite in that regard. Neither had he.

* * *

The knock on his door was quiet, but against the silence that stretched out before his night it was jarring. 

He knew he'd put the 'do not disturb' sign on the door handle when he got back to the room that evening, but equally he knew that not everyone was going to obey that. Not Ziva, for example, who he already knew to be his only possible late-night visitor before he even opened the door. 

She was wearing grey yoga pants and a baggy sweatshirt that finished on her upper thighs. Her hands were running through her hair, as though he'd caught her off-guard by answering the door. He didn't ask what she wanted, instead stepping back and opening it wide to let her come inside. 

The two of them stood in the centre of the room, silently, and Tony watched Ziva's eyes scan the surroundings and see the messy bedsheets and his work clothes discarded on the floor.

"Did I wake you?" She asked eventually. Tony simply shook his head in response. 

Tony sat back down on the small sofa, though it meant he was facing away from her. He turned his head 90 degrees to watch her carefully as she crossed the room. 

"What time is it?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

"A little after 2."

"Couldn't sleep? Me neither." 

Ziva sat down alongside him, kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs underneath her. She was still looking around the room, eyes not seeking out his. The sweatshirt ballooned around her in that position, making her look small.

"Something on your mind?" 

"Headache." She answered plainly, though he knew her well enough by now to sense the things lingering behind it. 

"Lot of that going around these days." Her nod when their eyes met was knowing, tight-lipped smile. “Drink?”

“Please.”

He pulled two bottles of beer out of the pack on the floor and popped the lids, passing her one and then holding out its neck so she could reflexively hit it against his. The beer was cold and it ran through his throat and chest pleasantly at this time of night.

The silence between them was deafening, loaded and pained as they both looked at the floor and allowed their eyes to glance around the room. Tony placed his arm along the back of the sofa but Ziva’s remained by her sides, poised as though she was about to stand up.

"I think I'm a little freaked out about today." He offered it with little ceremony and he knew Ziva was likely to see right through it. 

“You are?”

“Yeah. Yeah, or something. Can’t turn my brain off.” He watched her as he spoke, and though his words were blasé he could see the way they resonated with Ziva. She ran fingers through her curly hair again, leaving it a little wild framing her face.

He'd always liked her hair curly. She changed the style fairly regularly and though she always looked good he had a particular fondness for curls. The way he got an urge to run his fingers through them when they tipped over her features. 

Her hair looked a little lighter, too - just subtle enough that he might think it was from spending a long holiday on the beach, had he not known better. 

“It has been a difficult couple of days.”

“But _you’re_ OK?”

She continued fiddling with her hair, tucking it behind her ear. For a moment, it seemed as though she was waiting to see if he was going to drop it and continue talking. When he didn’t, she smirked a little. “Are you asking because you want to know, or because you believe you already know the answer?”

“You tell me.”

“I am fine, Tony.”

"Don’t give me that.” His voice was quiet, conceding and a little pleading, but she blinked as though it was harsher. “I may not have ever been an assassin, or a soldier. But if there's one thing I'm good at, it's noticing things. Like you, the last couple of days." 

"I could say the same thing." 

"I just said as much, didn’t I? But this isn't about me, Ziva." 

"Isn't it?" She looked at him accusingly. "You cannot act like you have not been the same." 

"Maybe I have. Maybe.." He thought for a moment. "It's not just about today, is it? It's all of this. All of this crap that's been happening." 

“Tony…” The word was kind and slow and maybe there was a hint of something heavier in Tony’s tone that he hadn’t realised. A hand came out to rest on his forearm for a moment, cutting through their frustration.

“What? _You_ came _here_ , Ziva. You came to see _me_.”

"I am not sure what you want me to say." Even as she said the words he could see her battling with herself, a frown between her eyes and a strain in her voice.

Tony didn’t immediately reply, sensing the pent-up frustration in his head that he didn’t want to misplace. His anger at all of this – Harper Dearing, and everything that had happened since, and their inability to express it properly. It wasn’t Ziva’s fault. In fact, he could see looking at her now the genuine fear flickering behind her eyes as she tried to compel herself into conversation. They’d always had a knack of feeding off each other’s emotions.

"Well hey, if you'd rather talk about something else we can do that." Tony scanned the room looking for inspiration. His tone was less clipped now. "You read any good books lately?" 

Ziva blinked, and then unexpectedly smiled. "Come on, Tony." 

"What? I'm interested." 

"No, I have not. We have not had much free time lately, it feels like." 

"Yeah, you're right there. Speaking of – I should probably call Gibbs, let him know we'll be back tomorrow." He knew he was busying himself by making idle conversation, but it was a habit he found hard to shake. Words spilling too fast out of his mouth to inspire communication.

"It is the middle of the night, Tony."

“No rest for the wicked.”

“And no rest for us, either.”

Tony grinned and pocketed his phone as the pause in conversation allowed them both to relax again. Gibbs could easily be informed at the airport in the morning – god knows he was usually awake that early, either way.

"Why do you think they sent us? Right now, of everyone?" 

The question came out of nowhere, and he focused his gaze on Ziva as she picked at the label of her beer bottle. He knew there was something she wanted to talk about, even if she was finding it difficult to hit upon the issue.

"Senior field agent, you're my partner. I think we've shown they can trust us. Why - what're you thinking?" 

"I am just wondering aloud how the two of us ended up investigating a terrorist so soon after one of them nearly killed us."

"Must be our enticing personalities." 

“Yes, I suspect that is it.” Tony smiled at her, expectantly, but her reply was a little too dry and her expression clear.

"Sometimes things just happen, Ziva. That's our job: we go through this so other people don't have to. That's what we sign up for." 

"Are you telling me that, or yourself?" 

It was astute, and truthfully Tony had found himself repeating those words on occasion when the going had got tough. He wasn't sure how much he believed them, though, at a time like this. 

"Is there any other way to view it?" 

"Maybe you are right. Maybe... maybe we just have to deal with these things. But - no," Ziva's contradiction of her own words was out of character, the frown of her face confusing as though she was objecting to someone else. "We cannot just bury our heads in the sand all of the time, Tony." 

He watched as she continued to frown, one hand still clutching her bottle of beer. He allowed the moment to cling between them for a moment before probing.

"What are you thinking about?" 

A little smile, now, but humourless. "Harper Dearing." 

"He's gone, Ziva." 

"I know. It is not that it is bothering me. I am just thinking about everything that happened. Things that could so easily have happened."

“I think what did happen was bad enough without talking about what-if’s.”

“I know.” 

Tony supposed that Ziva’s lack of objection to the train of thought was an invitation into the conversation she’d really came for, and shuffled on the sofa so he was facing her head on. He bought his knee up beneath him, his outstretched arm on the back of the sofa now almost reaching the back of her head. "At work, and outside of it, we've seen and experienced things _way_ beyond normal. But that doesn't mean things aren't gonna still affect you. What happened this summer was rough - it would be for anyone." 

He was surprised by his own tone, the maturity in how easily it had come to him, but Ziva didn’t seem to react. "That is what I'm talking about. It feels sometimes as though these things are happening constantly. This job is dangerous every day, Tony." 

"If you're just finding this out Mossad must've been very misleading." 

"What I mean to say is... things can sometimes be cut short. Plans never come to fruition. Things go unsaid." The sentence clung in the air as they looked at each other. "It might be hard to believe but I never wanted to be someone who lives her entire life inside her head." 

There was a little vulnerability in her eyes that he wasn’t expecting. She was watching him carefully, the way you did as you were admitting something that was difficult for you to talk about. Studiously analysing your conversation partner for any sign of negativity.

“I know that. And I know sometimes I push you too but that doesn’t mean you have to-”

“No. I.. no.” She repeated, and her hand came out to his knee this time. Tapped it a couple of times for emphasis. “You are right. I want to talk about these things with you. Sometimes I find it near enough impossible to do so, I know, but it is something I am working on. Something I want to work on. We should tell each other things.”

There was a resolve in her voice, a determined confirmation that it was something she’d thought through carefully in her head. Tony nodded and there was a small, youthful smile on her face in response.

Still, it was something of an out of character outburst from one of them, and Tony struggled a little to formulate a response before watching Ziva take a sip of her drink. She wasn’t the only one who found it hard to vocalise what she was thinking.

“What kind of things?”

“Things that are on our minds. Important things. I do not want you to.. there is no obligation, Tony.” She stumbled over herself a little, and Tony wanted nothing more than to take her hand to reassure her. He managed a finger along her forearm, slow and thoughtful, while she considered her words. “But I would like to share things with you.”

"What do you want to tell me?" 

"Hm?" 

"Usually when someone says 'we should tell each other things', they have something in mind." 

Ziva chuckled a little at his insight, cutting through the seriousness of the conversation. "No one thing in particular. Though I am not awake just because of a headache." 

"I figured as much. What's up?" 

"I am not sure I could even.. it is hard, to put into words what I am feeling. I am not certain myself." She stopped talking and look into his eyes with her own wide ones. He could sense her gauging, again, how to approach the conversation. "I did not necessarily have a motive for coming here." 

"Have we ever needed one?" Tony saw Ziva's mind flash over countless nights: innocent, and not so innocent, in each other’s company. For a brief moment there was a knowing glimmer in her eyes before she settled back to the present and shook her head in something like self-deprecation. 

"You might think me ridiculous." 

"I always do." 

She rolled her eyes though her hand was fiddling with the couch cushion. "I am a little spooked by today. I am not sure why. I think maybe what you said was right - so soon after everything, we are bound to feel jittery." 

"You're upset."

"I am not sure why this is bothering me so much. I-" Ziva cut herself off, and Tony watched her intently as she rubbed her face. Tiredness, rather than tears.

“It’s not a weakness to feel that way, y’know. You’re allowed to have things upset you or bother you. I’ve been a cop for the best part of two decades now and some of this stuff still bothers me.”

“I know. I know that.”

“But..?”

“Feeling like this, it made me realise things. The fact that I would never normally talk about feeling like this. The idea that – that we could have _died_ in that elevator, Tony, and I would have spent my entire life refusing to share so much of myself.”

His heart was in his mouth. “That’s not true.”

“But it is. It is true, and maybe it is not for me to say but I know you think the same about yourself too. You tell me now that these things bother you sometimes, but how often are you telling me as such out loud? I have seen how you’ve been since it happened.”

“I-” Tony cut himself off this time. It was something he’d been trying to work on, funnily enough: not beginning to talk just for something to say. “Sure, yeah. I know I’ve been like that sometimes. A lot of the time, maybe. And lately, yeah. I know that.”

Ziva watched him as he danced over and over the point, forcing himself into the confession. When she did eventually respond, she was more composed. "I can think of times when I have put myself off from sharing something with you. Things that have weighed on my shoulders because I kept them quiet. And I know there are things you do not talk about either, for one reason or another. I am not telling you that you have to tell me everything. But if both of us.. made an effort to try more. I think it would help."

She was still watching, looking for a sign of agreement. It was funny to him, that somehow she didn’t quite seem sure.

Then, it was tough for Tony to admit even to himself. That he’d gone home the next day after the bomb, and had lain awake in bed all night ruminating over the last conversations he’d had with people and the things he hadn’t been able to say. The fact that he and Ziva had joked about eloping, and that he hadn’t told her about the way his heart did a little flip in his chest when she’d said the word. Or telling her, more generally, that she deserved to hear more than the words he’d ever been capable of saying. That he’d battled them close to him, using them to steer conversations away from topics that scared him and towards things he could more easily control.

That he was terrified, almost all of the time, that one or both of them was going to do something to mess it up for good one day. And that, more likely or not, it would be because of this lack of communication.

That’s why he was so certain she was right now. Because it had been on his mind, too, and though it was rarely said they tended to be in sync with this kind of thing. That was why, as she continued to watch him intently, his hand on the back of the sofa came down to one of the locks of hair on her shoulders. He wrapped it a little around his finger, and felt her shoulder shift at his absent touch.

“Have you been thinking about this since it happened?” He directed the question at his own fingers rather than her face, nerves strangely jangling until he met her wide eyes. She nodded.

“On and off. Though it is hard to talk about, ironically. Maybe we have spent so long avoiding such topics that admitting to doing so out loud is the only way forward.”

“That might be the biggest moment of clarity either of us has ever had.”

Ziva chuckled and Tony’s hand fell from her completely, which made her expression steady again. She pressed her back, firmly and purposefully, against his arm.

“Tell me you will think about it.”

“I don’t need to, Ziva.” He could hear the concession in his own voice, quiet and deep and a little tired. “You’re right. We both know that.”

He knew there was a lot they still weren't saying - not out of avoidance, but because it was simply understood. A silent knowledge between the two of them. Like, for instance, the special case of their relationship, and why it was between them that they wanted to share feelings. Or the fact that it was Ziva's existence in his life over the years that had inspired Tony to want to do so at all.

He knew he'd changed, by knowing her. Their interactions had forced him to challenge ideas he'd had about himself, and how he saw the world. His feelings towards her had pushed him to do things he'd have thought insane before - basically give up his life to the hands of a madman in the hopes he might get one last look at her face. And, perhaps most simply of all, her existence encouraged him to find the ability to share things with her. She was right. He wanted to tell her things.

There were implications, too, of their desire to share. Maybe that was a step too far from what they were comfortable talking about even now - the reason why they wanted to continue to take things that little bit further.

“I know that there’s things I never talk about. My mom, and.. and issues like that.” He hated calling it that, an ‘ _issue_ ’, but it was the best way to describe the impact that her death had had on his life. Ziva reacted to the word, though she tried to cover it. He couldn’t remember at this time of night if he’d ever mentioned her to Ziva at all. “Sometimes, you meet people who think you’re obligated to tell them your entire life story.”

She smiled at that, and rolled her eyes. “I know what you mean. Especially considering my background – it is hard for people to understand sometimes that I am not comfortable telling them my entire life story on a first date.”

“Yeah, I think Eli is third date minimum.” Tony tilted his head at her smile. He turned earnest again. “Really, though. You’ve never pressured me to talk about that stuff, even though I know I must be frustrating as hell to talk to sometimes.”

“I have never found it frustrating, Tony. Do you know why?”

“Because you’re the same way?”

“Because I am the same way.”

It was funny, how much they reflected each other on issues like this. Remnants of their childhoods, different as they were, were fractured and complex and left them both struggling to trust other people with their vulnerabilities. He could see it in Ziva’s eyes as they spoke now: her almost innocent uncertainty at whether he understood what she was saying.

He grabbed her hand for real, stroking his thumb over her wrist bone.

“I want to tell you things. I do. And I can’t promise I’m gonna turn around tomorrow and give you a whole sob story, but you’re right. We shouldn’t just leave stuff unsaid.”

The final word was heavy in the air between them, wrapped up in implication and the elephant in the room that they had come close to looking at but hadn’t stared directly in the eye. It was in the touch of their hands on each other as Ziva smiled at him reassuringly; a confirmation that they both knew what else they were talking about.

Other things that couldn’t be left unsaid for much longer.

* * *

“We used to find it easier. Do you think that? We used to shrug stuff off easier.”

Neither of them had spoken in a while, and at the sound of Tony’s voice Ziva had turned to him purposefully. His head had fallen back to rest on the back of the sofa with a lazy nonchalance, and from this angle he could see the length of her eyelashes. She smiled a little sadly at his confession, considering the weight of the words.

“Perhaps. Or maybe we were just better at internalising it. It is not so easy to do that anymore.”

“You think?”

“You think so too.”

“Yeah,” He trailed off in agreement. “You really think we can do that? Whole new leaf, honesty hour?”

“If we do not push ourselves to, we never will.”

"What do you wanna do, wanna make a pact?" 

"What - an honesty pact?" 

"Sure." 

"We do not need a _pact_ , Tony. I just think we should.." Ziva stopped talking and looked at him for a moment. Her eyes were thoughtful and shining. "Let's just try." 

It still wasn't often Ziva showed vulnerability like this to him, though he was certain now more than ever that he saw more than she'd allow for anyone else.

"We can do that. Let's try." 

The smile that resulted from his words was bright. “Why is it that when we talk about things other people do every day, we talk as if it is so unusual?”

“Because _we’re_ unusual.”

“Yes, yes I suppose you are right there.” The words were punctuated with a yawn, and Tony watched as Ziva relaxed into the silence by tipping her head back so it rested on the back of the sofa in an action mimicking his own.

When nothing more came after the silence, he patted his thighs. 

"C'mon, let's get some sleep." 

"I am not sure I can, Tony." 

"Have you tried?" 

"No, but I.." 

"Hey." Tony interrupted. "Don't write it off before you've even tried. In the interests of being honest, I'm gonna struggle to get to sleep if you aren't at least trying." 

She still looked at him unsurely as he made his way to his feet and held his hand out. Her focus was on the limb specifically, as though it was foreign. He put his arm down again.

"Come with me." He implored quietly, and there was only a brief second of deliberation before Ziva stood up and made her way over to the bed. No pretence, or discussion about her staying. Another thing that had been left unsaid.

The bed wasn't particularly comfortable: firm and a little too high off the ground. The sheets were fresh and pristine white but scratchy to the touch, and the purple bed-runner from the bottom of the bed was oddly cold. 

Tony lay down on the side he’d been tossing and turning on a while earlier, fluffing the pillows below his head and crossing his ankles. Ziva followed, clambering more to the centre of the bed and unsurprisingly not waiting for an invitation to lay down close to him.

He held out his arm expectantly as she settled down on her side near the crevice between the pillows, and she lay herself on top of it, pulling it around her back. Familiar. Comforting.

He'd always liked the way her back moulded into the crook of his arm, curling against his side. Her hand wasted no time in reaching up to his chest, resting still on top of it.

This wasn't the first time, of course, that they'd ended up here, though it might have been the first time they'd done this in such practiced circumstances. Tony thought the only other examples of such a night that came to mind were in very different times in their relationship. Ziva's apartment, a month after Gibbs left, after a case where everything had fallen apart. Another hotel room, another European city, when Ziva was putting herself back together. 

It was a sign of their enduring comfort around each other, never any need for airs and graces or politeness. In spite of the sexual tension or very real tension that sometimes crinkled the edges, at its base their relationship was one forged around two people who spent every day together: easy, and comfortable, and familiar. It was the reason Ziva had come over to see him tonight. Tony knew himself that sometimes, when he felt like that, he felt more at ease around Ziva than he did alone. Easier to contend with your thoughts when there's something other than silence surrounding you. 

"Do you ever get lonely?"

It was striking, the way Ziva seemed to have zeroed on exactly what he was thinking about.

Tony had always hated calling himself lonely. He would deny it to the hills if anyone asked, ordinarily. He'd felt it tonight, though, wandering around the silent hotel room with a hundred things on his mind and nobody around to talk to about them.

Cue the knock at the door, and Ziva, who was almost always the person he went to with those thoughts.

"Sometimes. Yeah. Why, do you?" 

He felt her sigh against him. "I prepared myself when I was young for the likelihood I would spend my life alone. I did not see it possible for me to make long-lasting connections with people, with the jobs I would end up doing."

"But..?" 

Ziva had trailed off and so Tony prompted her, but she still didn't respond before lifting her head and looking at him. Their faces were close together and she smiled, companionably.

"I am just thinking out loud." Her head came down to rest on him again, and he ran a hand over her back a couple of times. Even if he couldn’t quite voice the same thoughts right now, he thought she’d understand that.

Reaching out to each other was a comfort. It always had been - a touchstone to fall back on, even when the comfort being offered was a simple tap on the shoulder as they walked past each other. They’d always understood each other, even when the words hadn’t come easily.

“What’s gotten into us lately?” The question was more rhetorical, and the answers worn over. Still, it felt like a thing to say.

“Maybe we are just worn out.”

“Well, yeah. What else is new. You think we need a holiday?”

“Good luck with that.”

“No harm in asking, right?”

“I would not get your hopes up.”

Ziva's thumb was drawing over his hand repeatedly, something subconscious that she'd always done whenever they ended up in a position like this. Tracing bones and veins. There was no meaning in the gesture: he was certain that most of the time she wasn't even aware she was doing it. Though it was intimate it wasn't romantic or sexual - more a subconscious method of fidgeting, almost, or a touch-comfort way to relax. 

Tony captured her thumb with his own briefly. 

"I like it when you do that." 

"Yes?" 

"Yeah. Feels nice. I dated a girl once who used to do something like that but she'd push your joints super hard. My hands used to feel like a stress ball." 

"I am sure dating you will do that to a girl." 

"Real funny." He grabbed her thumb again, this time squeezing her hand harder in a show of playful competition. "You just know me too well, then." 

"Don't undersell yourself, I am sure we can still find ways to stress each other out." Ziva went quiet for a moment, a satisfied hum against his t-shirt, before he felt her smile. “Was that the girl who gave you the tea for your headache that gave you hives?”

“She was a holistic healer.”

“Ah yes, of course. Dr Google taught her well, I remember.” Tony laughed along with Ziva as he remembered the girl he’d managed four dates with last year, who had a fundamental belief that medication was the cause of all of Tony’s life problems. “I liked her.”

“Liar.” Were this another conversation, Tony might have toed the line by making a comment about Ziva’s jealousy. Instead, he squeezed her side as she scoffed.

“Well, no. But she was sweet.”

“Surprisingly diplomatic, coming from you.”

“Shut up.” The mood was tempered now, joking and relaxed. Tony wasn’t sure if it was the change of topic or the lifting of weight off their shoulders: a relief of things in the open. “My father is the head of Mossad, diplomacy was practically a childhood hobby.”

“Along with martial arts and sarcasm, right?”

“And fire-breathing, in my spare time.”

He yawned as he chuckled. "Good job today." Ziva's laughter reverberated against his chest. "What?" 

"Now is not the time to be senior field agent." 

"I don't know, I thought it'd make you feel better." 

"You can go to sleep, Tony, it's OK. I think I just needed company. Needed you." She emphasised, raising her head a little off his chest though her voice was quiet. He lifted his hand to her hair. 

"So long as _you_ do. You think too loudly." 

Ziva rolled her eyes as her fingers tapped his chest in front of her. “Stop listening and sleep, then.”

"You know, we could've done this last night if you'd asked." 

"I know." 

"So why didn't you?" 

Ziva seemed to think about it for herself for a moment, eyes watching a spot on the far wall. "I am not sure." She looked back at him. "You could have asked, too." 

"I know. But I'm a coward, y'see." His hand drew up her back as she continued to watch him, head still raised from his chest.

"No, you're not." 

“Eh, I am. I can be. You know that.”

The mood was suddenly serious again, and Tony wondered for a moment if he’d crossed the fabled line that they placed between themselves so stringently. The finger that had been tapping his chest stopped, and drew slowly and purposefully along the neckline of his t-shirt. Her mouth opened and closed.

“I have never thought that about you, Tony. I would be a hypocrite.”

“What, do you hate rats too?”

It was a joke that he regretted immediately, considering the context of the night’s conversation, but the way his face dropped straight after saying it seemed to resonate with Ziva. Their gaze held for a long moment, understanding passing between them. They both knew what it was they were talking about. The cowardice they’d both shown at points like this in the past.

“Not tonight, hm?”

“Not tonight. Not tonight.” Tony repeated the words quietly, a whisper to himself. No self-deprecation tonight. No admission of missed opportunities tonight.

Maybe she was right; that it wasn’t the time. Then, maybe it was another distraction technique. Putting off talking about it, even in the midst of their discussion about the need to talk about these things. Unwritten rules about how they acted, what they said out loud, in jeopardy.

Despite Ziva’s assertion that it was too soon to confront every issue of lapsed communication, their eyes hadn’t left each other. Tony knew how easy it would be then to do something about it – say the word, or lean forward, or take same journey down to her lips that her eyes had been doing on his own.

Even through the intimacy of the night, it was the first moment that the atmosphere really threatened to change between them. Tony's eyelids felt heavy as the feeling of her body pressed against his became more pronounced, her lips a little darker than usual in the strange lighting.

The moment clung on just a little too long, though, and Tony exhaled in a finality that dropped it.

Tony wasn't quite sure if it was one or both of them who took a mental step back, deciding it was another day added to a list of when they'd thought about closing the gap. A gap _had_ closed today, though, Tony thought as Ziva laid her head back on his chest. 

He ran his fingers through her hair thoughtfully, and her arm tightened around him. 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome." He kissed her forehead and let his lips rest there for a while, feeling her slightly clammy skin against them. "We'll talk about things." 

"I would like that." 

"Me too. Get some sleep." 

* * *

Ziva went quiet and still surprisingly quickly, as the night’s conversation swirled around Tony’s head.

Tonight felt significant, though only time would tell if it proved to be the case. Ziva was right with everything she’d said. Tony did want to tell her things – things he’d spent so long barely acknowledging even in his own head that he wasn’t sure how to voice.

It was friendship, in a way: though things went deeper than that between them, further every day, it was a connection that wasn’t solely based in romance or attraction. A genuine desire to know each other, to understand how they saw the world and their place in it.

Tony knew he’d still held back a little tonight, though he hoped his intention was clear. A baby step was progress, nonetheless. Tony knew it might take weeks or even months for it to work. It was all well and good making a spontaneous decision to change something, but consistently living that way took dedication and discomfort. 

He regarded her half-sleeping form in his arms. So calm and steady, a presence he knew he could count on.

He hoped she thought that about him too.

**Author's Note:**

> I've thought a lot about post-elevator us in my time, and while usually I settle on it being something Tony thought of, I wondered how it might be from the opposite direction. Broadly idk I'm just super interested in the shift in Tony and Ziva's relationship at the start of s10 and exploring potential reasons behind it.


End file.
